


Under the Boot

by DylanTheDman



Category: Extreme Championship Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, WCW, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment, ecw
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Coercion, Crying, Daddy Issues, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Sexual Content, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Pining, Power Imbalance, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DylanTheDman/pseuds/DylanTheDman
Summary: Stevie being there to make Raven’s life easier only made his own harder, but Raven liked it that way. Good thing Stevie loved giving into him.Good thing.





	Under the Boot

Stevie didn’t think love-hate was a good way to describe his relationship with Raven; it was something more demeaning, and screwed up, entirely. A need-enable was closer maybe, at least for Stevie. Raven was too fucked on drugs to even guess what he thought about, but if there was one thing Stevie knew about Raven, it was that seeing Stevie hurt, humiliated, or sad got him hot, somehow.

That was one of the first things Stevie learned about Raven. The first day they’d met, when Stevie had all these high hopes for a mentor, and wisdom; he thought he’d met exactly the man he needed—the father he always wanted—until they were finally alone.

In their shared dressing room, Stevie was changing back into his street clothes, when the urge to turn around and express his heartfelt thanks to Raven overcame him. He could finally get the guidance, advice, and life lessons he never got from his own dad, and he felt Raven needed to know how much that all meant to Stevie, but Raven barely let him get the ‘hey’ out.

The moment Stevie turned around, he was met with Raven’s full eye contact while the man dumped a styrofoam cup full of water on the floor. In the stunned silence that followed, Raven stood there with his arms crossed like a petulant child, and stared at Stevie like he was waiting for something. Stevie already knew what that something was.

It made him feel two inches tall, but Stevie knew he was Raven’s lackey. So much for a father figure, Stevie thought as he grabbed up a towel.

A rib like this was usually a one-and-done, to make the rookie prove they knew their place, and move on, but, honestly, Stevie thinks he knew where it would go as Raven kept a blank face.

Dropping to his knees, Stevie watched up at Raven to make sure he was doing it right, but this would only be the first of many times Raven made it clear Stevie would never do anything right. Without a word, Raven snatched the towel out of Stevie’s hand.

“Wha—“ Stevie started, but the protest drained out of him along with the color once he felt Raven’s hand in his hair, gently, but persistently guiding his face down to the puddle. Guiding—how fucking ironic.

But no matter how insulting it was, Stevie gave Raven what he wanted, and licked the puddle up like a dog, shoving his disgust away.

Stevie should have known, from that moment forth, anything he did to make Raven’s life ‘easier’ was going to make his own harder, and anything that made his life harder got Raven off. Well—he did know, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. He was Raven’s little bitch, his toy, his lackey cunt; all words from Raven’s own mouth, specifically to make Stevie cry. Raven loved it when Stevie cried, loved the tears while he put Stevie on his knees in their dressing room, when he bent him over in the hotels, or just when he felt like humiliating him for humiliation’s sake.

Stevie was almost on the verge of tears as they pulled into the lot, late, for the so-many-eth time in a row. Normally, he’d just give in, and sob, like Raven liked, but not today. It would satisfy Raven too much for Stevie to cry while Paul got on him—and him alone—for being late. Stevie couldn’t indulge him that much, or so he told himself.

As the time went on, more and more, Stevie wondered if he liked how Raven treated him. He never fought it, in fact, he almost always went the extra mile to try to impress Raven, to maybe, finally, hear a ‘good job’ or ‘I’m proud of you’. Stevie didn’t like to think about if, or how, that tied back to his dad when Raven was screwing him, but deep down, he knew it did somewhere. That was exactly why he didn’t like to think about it.

Stevie kept his head while Paul implored him, for the umpteenth time, not to be late, and all he could do was nod and make another empty promise it wouldn’t happen again. He could have easily blamed Raven, but he never did; it was his job to take the fall, so he did. It was his place, no more, no less, or it was bye-bye ECW spot. Bye-bye Raven.

Stevie always took it for Raven, from Raven, and everything in between.

Wasn’t like he deserved much more, or even that much.

Stevie dealt with it the way he anyways did: tell himself Raven couldn’t be blamed, because of how the drugs fucked him up, and then go right on enabling him. Like Stevie said, he was pretty sure he deserved being treated like trash, and loved Raven for treating him like it. The person he really hated was himself.

Once in their dressing room, he found Raven sitting with his legs splayed wide, giving him that ever-present, expectant look. That entitled look that Stevie was powerless against.

He slide his back down the closed door, until he was sat on the floor, hugging his knees, and sobbed, heavy, and morose, to get Raven aroused. When Raven gave him that mildly contemptuous look, but beckoned him, Stevie went, crawling, like he’d been taught.

Years later, Stevie would be disturbed by how he felt he ‘belonged’ between Raven’s spread thighs, but, in the moment, it was all he knew. Being under Raven’s boot was just how life went.

A lazy pet by Raven was new, but Stevie went along, it might turn into a sharp slap, like he sometimes got, but it didn’t. Raven just stroked his hair, and tipped his chin up, inspecting the hurt he loved so much.

Even more rare, was words between them, but Raven seemed to be in a special (extra messed up) mood. His eyes were glassy, and unfocused, strange to see from someone with such a built up tolerance—something new, maybe. He slurred, “You’re so pretty when you cry,” words running together, and spilling out more like liquid than words. “Who are you, baby?” With none of the affection the nickname implied.

They played this game, sometimes, when Raven was too fucked up to degrade Stevie himself.

“Your bitch,” Stevie sniffled. Raven kept giving him The Look, so he kept going, “your whore, your lackey, your...” Stevie inhaled sharply as Raven raked his fingernails over Stevie’s scalp in satisfaction. It was the only way Stevie knew he was giving Raven what he needed, that he was doing a good job, so he chased the sensation.

“I’m your bag boy, your slut, your sex slave...” Stevie trailed off as Raven interrupted him, as he was apt to do. ‘Sex slave’ must have done something for Raven, because his free hand flew to his zipper.

It wasn’t surprising to Stevie that Raven would like the idea of Stevie being his slave. Raven loved the idea of breaking Stevie, and watching him fall apart, and Stevie loved giving Raven what he wanted. He knew, maybe it went beyond admiration, and daddy issues, into L-word territory, but he never thought about that. He knew Raven, high, wasn’t capable of love, and Raven, sober, hated himself more than he loved anything. Stevie can’t say he was much different, minus the drugs part—most of the time.

This was one of the rare times, he allowed Raven to slip him something before they got into it, something to make Stevie hate himself a little less. It was his shame-of-shames, that even he wasn’t immune to needing something, couldn’t get through knowing it was just Raven using him. He needed the pill to convince himself Raven loved him back, at least a little.

Next thing in his mouth was Raven’s cock, and he was blessedly numb. All he needed to do was keep his mouth wet and pliable, and not think. Raven was the type who took over anyway, paced Stevie the way he liked, by grabbing his hair, and fucking his face. On the drugs, it was actually pretty nice; the drag of Raven’s cock over his tongue, tracing the vain that had become more familiar than it had any right to.

First few times, Raven just smacked Stevie around, and came on his face, but it wasn’t too long before Raven discovered he liked it when Stevie choked on his dick. It took a little longer for Stevie to discover that he didn’t hate the way Raven’s dick felt in his mouth, but that it made him feel terrible every time.

Stevie loved Raven, more than either of them deserved, and he couldn’t-not try to be good for him, but the fact that he was alone in it was uncomfortably clear when they had sex. Stevie couldn’t even call it sex, really, Raven just fucked him, because Stevie was in no place to say no.

It wasn’t exactly that Stevie would have said no, or that he even disliked being used, but he wanted so much more than Raven could give. He wanted Raven to feel for him too, and he could pretend while they did this. It was so easy when Raven got him high.

High, Stevie could suck Raven’s dick forever. His throat didn’t get sore, he barely needed air, and all he had to do was be used; Stevie would do that for Raven. Stevie would do anything for Raven, and that was the part that worried him from the start. How there was nothing Stevie wouldn’t do for him.

Stevie whined when Raven pulled him off his dick, as pathetically as he could manage. For once, Raven showed a little gratitude, pushed Stevie’s hair back softly; the way it made Stevie so hopeful was probably more pitiful than the way he whined, but he’d take what he could get.

“I want you, Stevie. Get on your hands an—“ Stevie practically threw himself to the floor the second Raven showed him that wisp of positive attention. An ‘I want you’ was all but an ‘I love you’ from Raven, and Stevie would do anything to hear it.

Stevie yanked his own shorts and underwear down and got in Raven’s favorite position. Hands and knees, shoulders down, and ass up; easy to hold down, and dominate.

“You really are my little bitch, aren’t you, baby?” Raven chuckled, meanly, as he kneeled up behind Stevie.

With Raven’s hands ghosting over his lower back, Stevie gasped, a soft, “Yes,” with no thought needed. It was true, Stevie knew, as Raven slid in. It usually felt good, but on the pills, it was fucking amazing; sometimes, he even got to come. 

He liked being Raven’s bitch, because it was as close as he’d ever get to being loved by him, being loved by a man he looked up to. He’d give up his entire soul for the barest taste of love. Like most things between them, Stevie tried not to think about it.

Slowly, and high-sloppy, Raven fucked into Stevie. He was greedy as always, but that was how Stevie liked it. He liked everything when he took Raven’s drugs. Even sober, he liked it (somewhere deep-down), but shame almost always eclipsed it. The knowledge that he was just there for Raven to use made it harder to like. Maybe it wasn’t even the drugs; maybe it was really the excuse he needed to let go, and like it.

Stevie moaned like a whore, wishing he was on his back, able to wrap his arms around Raven.

There was a lot of things Stevie wished.

Stevie wished Raven loved him back. Stevie wished Raven didn’t like to hurt him. Stevie wished Raven didn’t get off on watching him cry. Stevie wished Raven wasn’t always fucked up. But most of all, Stevie wished he could meet Scott.

Not that he hated Raven—he couldn’t—not even when Raven slapped him, or spit in his mouth, but he still wished. 

Scott became Raven when he was drugged up, which is to say all the time, and Stevie loved Raven. If he loved Raven so much, he couldn’t imagine how much he’d love Scott.

But that was beside the point, Raven was fucking him with more urgency now, a little faster, and deeper. Even straight, Stevie liked it like that; drugged, he barely lasted a minute, coming all over the floor.

Raven kept fucking him, thrusting deep, making Stevie squirm, and his thighs tremble. Stevie thought he could probably come again, but Raven came in him right as he had that thought. Raven pulling out promptly left Stevie with come dripping out of him; Sloppy, and pathetic, and lowly, just how Raven liked him.

The drugs never lasted long enough, and suddenly, Stevie was more aware of hating himself than loving Raven. God, he thought bleakly, I’m such a masochist. Then there was the old, somehow comfortable shame.

That was Stevie’s life, getting fucked everyday by a man who would never love him back, only ever hoping to make Raven happy by being his stress ball. Stevie, drugged or not, would always let Raven squeeze everything out of him.

Once Raven got up and left, casually, that was when Stevie let his for-Raven tears turn into real tears. Tears for how he’d never get Raven’s love in return, but would readily settle for the scraps he was thrown, and how he’d do it forever if it meant staying in Raven’s orbit. Under Raven’s boot was where he belonged.

That was all he’d ever be to Raven, the slave who loved being walked all over.

The prisoner who hopelessly loved his captor.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that was so gloomy; I’m working through some stuff.
> 
> Anyway; I do not profit from this in any way, I don’t own these men, this is 100% fictional.
> 
> Please validate me with kudos and comments ily all.


End file.
